Lydia Returns
by JennySkyrim
Summary: After parting ways with her mistress, Lydia returns to the dragonborn's house in Whiterun. Unfortunately she lets slip to her Thane's wife Ysolda a little too much truth about the practicalities of adventurers' sleeping arrangements. A Skyrim lemon.


The door of Breezehome banged open downstairs. Ysolda started, suddenly. Ever since her wedding, she had seen her wife less and less, with visits infrequent and short; a brief appearance to deposit some fantastical glowing weaponry in the chest, a demand for a homecooked meal or the sweetest surprise - a chance for some lover's comfort.

Hoping sincerely for the latter (it had been _so _long, and her experiments with the leather-wrapped hilt of a small iron dagger had seriously lacked the required warmth), the young Nord dropped the glass of mead she had been absentmindedly sipping from onto the table and rushed downstairs, with the familiar clunking of heavy armor telling her the self-appointed hero of Skyrim, the apparent Dovahkiin was indeed here.

But as Ysolda leapt down the last few steps into the living quarters, she saw another Nord like herself, not the smooth, dark-skinned Redguard to whom she had given herself mentally and physically all those months ago at the Temple of Mara in Riften. After a millisecond of uncertainty, she recognised the tall, strong build of the figure she saw before her, despite a horned helmet covering most of the face.

"Lydia? Is that you?"

"Greetings, mistress Ysolda - my mistress decided we should part ways so I decided to return here to help you with your duties. Wait, could you help me with this?" she asked, gesturing to her helmet.

"Er- no problem at all, housecarl," she said, dealing uncertainly with the last word - she was not used to being in any position to order people around or even contemplate the idea of servants or rank - and hurried over to the woman, reaching up to loosen the straps around her neck and help her tug the helmet upwards.

Immediately, a cascade of thick brown hair tumbled out, with its now-remembered braid at the front, while the cold tingle of Lydia's smooth skin on her own arm reminded her of her duties to any friends of her wife.

"By Talos you must be freezing; come and sit down by the fire. And let me help you out of the rest of that armor, it looks awfully heavy-"

"Er, no need, mistress - I shall change upstairs. Is my room still appointed?"

"Yes, of course. Go ahead."

As Lydia clanked upstairs, Ysolda was left cursing her own idiocy. She had genuinely wanted to help, but had sounded more like that idiot Mikael, doing his standard "let me get you out of those... wet clothes" rubbish after splashing some Argonian ale very obviously down someone's dress.

"I'll have a drink and some food waiting for you when you're finished," she yelled upstairs, uncertain of whether the warrior had even heard her, and settled down back by the fire.

* * *

><p>"And so she's going around with some facepainted Amazon from Riften now," she continued lightly, though Ysolda was sure she detected an edge of emotion in Lydia's voice, "and her lickspittle servant - Arran or something. Traveling into dungeons with her, fighting dragons with her, sleeping with-"<p>

Lydia fell silent, realising the mead has loosened her tongue just a little too much. She vainly attempted to undo the very clear implication she had left hanging in the air.

"I mean, sleeping in the same camps and inns as her."

But it had already been said, meant and understood. Ysolda felt like her stomach had just sunk down 100ft into the earth.

"Sleeping... together?"

Lydia's eyes darted from left to right, like she was looking for a literal escape route.

"No, of course not. I mean, you're married to her. And I don't think Mjoll is even like us. You know? I think she's into men..." but her protestations were unconvincing and listless. She tailed off, while Ysolda was left feeling like she needed to rush out of the room, find whichever Dwemer ruin her wife was poking around and just have it out with her.

Instead, she composed herself, fixed the housecarl with her interpretation of a calm and reasonable glare, and in a barely contained voice asked:

"So is that normal behaviour then?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. You adventurers - do you... 'enjoy' your companions?"

Lydia inhaled, no doubt about to begin denying it, but immediately another idea grabbed Ysolda like it was trying to wrench her apart.

"What about you? You said her new friend "wasn't like us". As in she didn't like women. So... did you? With my wife? And don't lie to me, Lydia, or I'll speak to the Jarl and have you flogged for disrespecting the consort of a Thane.

Lydia didn't know what to say. She was overcome with a feeling of guilt, as well as incensed by the tone of haughtiness which had strayed into her compatriot's voice.

"Still a teenager," she thought to herself, "has probably never even handled a sword, and she dares speak to me like this." But immediately Ysolda's glare broke, tears started oozing from her eyes and the girl seemed to physically collapse into the chair she was sitting in.

"Oh Ysolda, I'm sorry. Look, it's what we do on the road when we're away from everything else for weeks at a time. It's even my duty as a housecarl to look after the physical and mental wellbeing of my mistress. But I know she was thinking of you," she finished, though she couldn't keep her own recollections from bubbling up inside her own head of that first night, just outside the fortress at Morvunskar...

* * *

><p>The wind whistled icily outside the thin walls of the tent, carrying with it snow to chill the body from the Northern holds of The Pale and Winterhold, while the unearthly Necromantic chants of the mages in the fortress just a few hundred yards North rode the same winds to chill the soul.<p>

Lydia couldn't sleep, despite the warmth of the two bodies in their customary position of the housecarl cradling her Thane's smaller, dark body in front of her, the Nord's face pressed tightly into the Redguard's thick black hair, while the curve of her mistress' back fitted perfectly into the shape of her own naked body, her own two pale white hands clasping each other chastely over the small soft bump of her Thane's belly, and beneath her mistress' own hands, all an inch or so above the flimsy underwear the dragonborn always wore when they slept.

The ceremony had been lovely back in Riften - it had even been nice to see her own ex-girlfriend Uthgerd in less fraught circumstances than when they parted, the rough feel of Uthgerd's skin against her own soft lips during their greeting kiss had reminded Lydia of the happy times they had spent together - but the moment that was playing over and over again in her head, despite the cold of the night air and the palpable threat of the fortress just up the road, was the two young wives' first kiss.

Lydia had never even thought of her mistress in a sexual way, she tended not to - it was easier that way, saved the disappointment when they always turned out to be appalled by her sexuality. But when she saw her Thane kiss Ysolda for the first time, yes, **her** Thane, she felt the warm flood of jealousy seep throughout her body.

And the warmth was still there, still coursing through her, which is perhaps why she eventually drifted off, despite the cold outside.

* * *

><p>Lydia awoke what must have been an hour or so later, the wind still blowing, though the chanting had drifted away on the breeze and ended. She had been woken by the sound of her mistress' short urgent breaths, as well as the corresponding jerks of her charge's soft belly under her hands and the easily perceptible warmth of that back moving gently next to her own stomach.<p>

The most telling and exciting movements, however, were those of the Redguard's underwear-covered buttocks gently bumping back into the Nord's crotch. The contact of her companion's silken garments brushing against her own pubic hair seemed to electrify the atmosphere of the tent, turning what had once seemed domestic and safe into a dangerously charged environment.

The dragonborn was asleep, enjoying the reveries of an erotic dreamworld, but her housecarl was now very much awake, and cursing her own lack of restraint, knew she would be unable to resist, despite the vows of fidelity she had heard her mistress delivering just a few short days before, and her hands begin to inch inexorably downwards.

First she moved - oh so slowly - her face, bringing her lips to brush warmly against her Thane's neck. No reaction. Now she placed a soft kiss on the same place and still nothing. Finally, Lydia's fingers were directly on top of her mistress' underwear, and she began to trace the landscape below. First, the electrifying revelation of smoothness, before the feeling of wet warmth and gentle undulation of the dragonborn's twitching hips rubbed Lydia's fingers against her mistress' private areas, with only the taut near-nothingness of her underwear in between.

* * *

><p>Feeling Lydia's nipples hardening and brushing against Thane's back, the Nord sighed directly into the dragonborn's ear, the sound and all-encompassing warmth of her housecarl's breath flooding into her ear roused her from her enjoyable slumber to discover her reality wasn't much different than what she had been dreaming about.<p>

She felt Lydia's gentle bite on her neck at the same time as a white finger slipped effortlessly under her panties and between her wet, pink lips, deep into her. At the same time, her housecarl's other hand was rubbing her clitoris through her silken underwear, giving her the rare feeling of complete submission to her servant's caresses.

Before too long the inevitable surrender rose from within her and she cried out at she let go, warmth flooding out of her as she twitched around her servant's fingers and pushed her buttocks back into the warmth of Lydia's naked body, feeling those soft black pubes she had felt against her all these nights rubbing gently against her through her now warm and completely wet panties.

As her cry faded into the wind, she turned round in her servant's arms, their breasts pressing together, her own brown nipples brushing against Lydia's soft white skin and their mouths met, opened and they became as one.

* * *

><p>Ysolda felt her fellow Nord's strong arms tightly clamped against her as she helped her the stairs to their bedroom.<p>

"I'm sorry, Lydia. I just... I just didn't know that was how things were. I must seem very silly to you. Just a young inexperienced idiot staying at home while you and my wife trek across Skyrim fighting dragons and exploring fabulous palaces."

"Don't worry about it," Lydia responded, "and besides, your wife has dismissed me to hang around with that slut from Riften. We've got all the time we want to have our own adventures".

And with that, Ysolda felt Lydia's grip around her tighten slightly as she was helped into her bedroom. She glanced at the iron dagger lying on the bedside table.

"Wait one second, housecarl," she said, in a more authoritative voice than she had mustered all evening. "I just need to put that dagger away. I don't think I'll be needing it any more."


End file.
